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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28598235">The Way Back</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/songsformonkeys/pseuds/songsformonkeys'>songsformonkeys</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wonder Woman (Movies - Jenkins)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Depression, F/M, Mentions of past abuse, Redemption, Self-Hatred</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:27:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,431</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28598235</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/songsformonkeys/pseuds/songsformonkeys</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Maxwell had never expected to find himself back in the small town where he grew up. He’d sworn to never come back, but things change and maybe people too. Back in town he meets his old girlfriend who, despite hating him, offers Maxwell a job. Working alongside her and the ragtag group of women she employs, Maxwell gets a second chance to figure out what’s important in life and how to become someone to be proud of.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>maxwell lord/OFC</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Way Back</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="">
    <p>The taxi drops Maxwell, and the two cardboard boxes of his things, off in front of an unfamiliar yellow one-story house in an all too familiar small town. He eyes the flaking paint on the facade and the sparse but neat flower beds on either side of the front door. The house looks so tiny compared to the apartment building he had vacated earlier that same day, and Maxwell has a hard time picturing how those four walls can fit a person's life. Then again, his own life is currently housed in little more than two cardboard boxes and a duffle bag so maybe he shouldn't judge.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>As he contemplates and feels shame over how his entire life has managed to dwindle down to so little, the front door of the house opens. A moment later, a woman is running towards him, on legs that look way too unsteady for Maxwell's liking. He drops the duffle bag and prepares to catch her but the woman makes it over to him without stumbling.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>When she reaches for his face, his first instinct is to bat her hands away, because it's too fast and too soon, but he reminds himself that she isn't just anybody and that perhaps he owes her this. So he stands still as she cups his cheeks and runs dry and slightly coarse thumbs along his cheekbones.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>”Maxwell... Oh, my Maxwell,” she says in a half-whisper and Maxwell watches as tears well up in her eyes.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>”Hi, Mom,” he answers, but she seems to barely hear him – too busy studying his face like she's matching up and taking note of all the differences between the man standing in front of her and the man – boy, really - who had left for college around twenty years ago and not returned once since then.</p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”Oh my little boy,” she cries, her accent just as thick as he remembers it, making <em>little</em> sound more like <em>leetle</em> the way she pronounces it. ”All grown up.” She gently rubs a strand of his hair between her fingers. ”And so blonde, <em>ay</em>, I barely recognized you.” She chuckles, like she's joking, but Maxwell can see the pain shine through in her eyes. She almost hadn't recognized her own son. Maxwell can't even imagine what it would be like to one day look upon Alistair's face and see a stranger, and a sour mix of pity and shame churn unpleasantly in his gut. He's the one who put her through this and caused this pain by leaving, and he hates himself a bit for it. But part of him also resents her for the way she's welcoming him back now, with not only pain but also love in her eyes as she gazes up at him. It reminds him far too much of the way he remembers her looking at Maxwell's father. She'd always welcomed him back too, regardless of however many times he hurt her. Part of Maxwell thinks a slap would have hurt less than the gentle way she's stroking his cheek.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”Are you hungry?” she asks him and Maxwell isn't really but he nods anyway and it makes her smile. She reaches for the duffle bag on the ground but Maxwell interrupts her.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”No, Mom, it's heavy. I got it,” he tells her and she hesitates for a couple of seconds before standing back up. Maxwell picks up the duffle and hangs it across his body before picking up the two boxes. They're a bit heavy and a little awkward to carry, but he manages, as he follows his mom inside the house. The inside of the house matches the outside quite well. It's sort of homey but worn and a bit depressing. Maxwell recognizes a few things from when he was a kid, mostly the photographs on the walls – his own face stares back at him from at least three different places as he steps into the living room – but many of the things in here are new. Well, new for him. Nothing in this home looks actually new. It's worn and patched and nothing looks like it was made in this decade. Most of the space in the living room is taken up by a floral-patterned couch in a mix of desaturated pink and turquoise, and black. The crushed velvet has worn threadbare in places and just looking at it gives Maxwell a headache.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”The guestroom is this way,” his mom tells him, nervously hurrying around him to open a door on the wall to the right. Maxwell looks inside. It's more of a shoebox than a room, to be perfectly honest, but it has a bed and beggars really can't be choosers. Maxwell had needed a place to escape to and his mom had said yes. He hadn't expected it to be the Ritz-Carlton.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He sets the boxes and duffle bag down on the pale beige bedspread and his mom tells him that she'll start dinner. She asks if vegetarian is okay and he nods and forces a smile in her direction. It slips from his face as soon as she leaves the room. He looks around. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>His new room. In his new home. It's so very underwhelming but, as the voice at the back of his head reminds him, still more than he deserves after what he did.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Maxwell isn't sure how much his mother knows about the reason behind their reunion, or if she just thinks Maxwell woke up one day with a burning desire to return to the town that holds almost all his worst memories and to the woman who let him down so many times that he lost count in the end. She hadn't mentioned anything about his broadcast when he'd called her. Hadn't mentioned much of anything actually. At least not for the first few minutes before she got her crying under control. She had said yes to him coming back before he'd even finished asking.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Conversation during dinner is a one-sided affair with his mom telling him about this and that, but mostly gushing about how happy she is that he's back. Maxwell doesn't know what to reply. Maxwell doesn't feel happy, doesn't feel much of anything besides shame these days. He isn't happy to be back. It was just the lesser of two evils. But he can't tell his mother that. So instead he compliments her on her cooking. It's some sort of spicy vegetable curry with cauliflower and carrots, and it's delicious.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>His mother blushes a little and looks down at her plate.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”It's actually takeout. I didn't make it,” she confesses.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”Oh...well, it's really good,” he tells her and she smiles.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”There's more in the fridge, if you want to have it tomorrow as well.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”Sure, Mom.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He takes another bite and silence falls between them. The small talk had annoyed him but, as it drags on, he finds that the silence is worse. It highlights the fact that they have nothing in common, no shared memories to talk about that won't make them both cry. He has her eyes but that's not enough of a conversation starter to bridge twenty years of estrangement.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”I have a son,” he blurts out when he can't take the suffocating quietness anymore, and watches as those brown eyes in his mother's face light up with the revelation.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”I have a grandson?” she asks and just for the briefest of moments, when she smiles, Maxwell thinks he recognizes her as the woman she was before his father broke her.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”Yeah,” he tells her. ”His name is Alistair.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Moving in with your mom, as a grown man, is probably never easy, but moving in with your mom as a grown man she hasn't seen for 20+ years, is downright suffocating. It takes her almost a week before she stops crying whenever he enters the kitchen after having woken up, and greets her with a ”Good morning, Mom.” Soggy cereal doesn't taste better accompanied by the sounds of badly held back sobs. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Maxwell doesn't know what to say to comfort her.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>At the same time, Maxwell isn't quite brave enough to leave the house yet. He knows there will be punishment for what he did, he just isn't sure if it will come in the form of a fist, a boot, or the blade of a knife. What's worse, he isn't sure he would mind either.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>So they both mostly stay indoors, moving around the small house like two restless ghosts. He supposes that description isn't too inaccurate. An argument could be made that they were both just lingering remains of the two people they once were.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They usually watch TV in the evenings. It's a good way to find safe topics to small talk about. His mother likes the game shows with the questions and Maxwell is surprised to discover that she is actually quite good at them. She sits on the couch, leaning forward slightly with a small frown of conversations, and often gets the answers to the questions right even before the contestants do.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”Mom, you're really good at this,” he tells her one evening and she turns to give him an almost shy smile like she's a bit embarrassed that he's noticed.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”Thank you, <em>mijo</em>,” she says and tucks a strand of her gray and brown hair behind her ear. ”I love these shows. But this...” she gestures to herself and looks down at her lap with a sad smile ”...I know it's a bad habit.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Maxwell frowns, not quite following her train of thought.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”What is a bad habit?” he questions, looking between his mom and the TV.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”Giving the answers like this. Nobody likes a woman who's a know-it-all.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Maxwell feels something tighten in his chest, because even if it's his mother’s soft and unassuming voice speaking the words, Maxwell knows they're not really hers to begin with. They've just been thrown in her face often enough for her to start believing them too. Maxwell had heard variations of them too, when he still lived at home. Never directed at him, though. Maxwell had never been told to hide what he could do. Opposite of that, Maxwell had always been expected to do and be more – more than he had any chance of ever doing or being. It was never enough. But his mother, she had been expected to shrink and shrink until there was barely more than a shell of a woman there.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>For the millionth time, Maxwell feels the hate for his father and how he'd broken them both, but in different ways, flares up like a fire in his chest. It feels like a small consolation that the man is already dead and buried, since many years back.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Maxwell tampers down the anger and hate and turns to look at his mother.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”I like hearing your answers,” he tells her. She gives him a wet smile and when she reaches out to take his hand, he lets her, even though her thin fingers make him worry that he's gonna grip too hard and hurt her.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”Thank you,” she says and the emotion in her voice has his own throat closing up so that the only answer he can give her is a nod and a gentle squeeze of his hand before they both return their attention to the TV.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>About two weeks into Maxwell's stay with his mother, the doorbell rings. Maxwell considers ignoring it but the night before, he'd come to the conclusion that he couldn't hide out in this house like it was his prison forever. If he wasn't gonna live, he might as well be dead. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And he didn't want to be dead...most days.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>So he's taken baby steps towards living this morning and has actually put on proper clothes. Even though the light gray slacks and the pale lavender dress shirt clashes horribly with just about everything in the house, it makes him feel more human than he has in weeks. And now that the ball has been set in motion, it seems some higher power thinks he's ready for the next challenge. Human interaction.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He feels hyper-aware of everything around him and inside him as he moves to the hallway. The last person he had interacted with that wasn't his mom, were the taxi driver that drove him here, and that had been a simple exchange of addresses.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Maxwell reaches the door and takes a deep breath before opening it. And when he does, all previous self-conscious thoughts are wiped clear from his mind because outside the door stands just about the last person on the planet that Maxwell had expected to ever come face to face with again. The two of them stare at each other, shock written clear on both of their faces, and for a few moments it feels like time is standing completely still. Then Maxwell is the first to speak.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”Jamie...” he says, hating how the surprise makes his voice waver just a little when he says her name, like his mouth had forgotten how to shape it. Jamie just stares back at him with wide, light brown eyes. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She's older than how Maxwell remembers her – not that he has spent that much time letting himself remember her – but her change in appearance isn't so strange considering he'd last seen her during his freshman year in college. But it's unmistakably her; with her head of messy dark hair, falling in playful waves around her face to give her a permanent air of mischief. The hair is shorter now than the last time he'd run his hands through it, but it suits her. There's nothing mischievous about her appearance now, but Maxwell thinks that's mostly due to the surprised and slightly horrified expression on her face. The one that he has brought about. She stands just outside the door, wearing jeans and an army green canvas jacket, with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. In her arms is a box that looks to be filled with food containers and balancing on top of the box is a paper bag with two baguettes.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>"<em>Max</em>?” she asks like she knows what she's seeing but wants to make perfectly sure. The sound of her voice, low and pleasant, washes over him like a wave of nostalgia, followed by the ever-present feeling of shame. ”What are you doing here?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Maxwell doesn't have time to answer her before his mom shows up behind him. She pushes past him in the narrow hallway and Maxwell backs up against the wall.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”Jamie!” she exclaims, giving the woman outside her door a wide and friendly smile. His mom clearly isn't as surprised to find Jamie visiting their home as Maxwell is. ”Look who is back!” Maxwell's mom grabs his arm and tugs him a step forward as if Jamie won't be able to see him from his current spot a few inches back. His mother's grip is surprisingly strong and the tug takes him a little by surprise, almost making him stumble. He grabs the doorframe for support.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”Maxwell is home,” his mom continues when neither he nor Jamie make an effort to speak. Jamie is still watching him a bit like he's a ghost. Maybe she had actually hoped he would be dead by now.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Then she seems to regain her composure and pick her proverbial jaw up off the ground. She blinks and something seems to harden in her gaze.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”I can see that,” she says and Maxwell picks up on the chill to her voice even if his mother doesn't seem to notice as she shoos Maxwell back into the house and waves for Jamie to come in.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”Can I...?” he offers weakly, gesturing to the box in her arms.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”No,” she says, cutting him off and, in all fairness, she doesn't look like she needs the help. The box must be heavy but Jamie maneuvers it through the narrow hallway and into the kitchen with ease.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Maxwell's mother follows Jamie into the kitchen, telling her about Maxwell's arrival and how he's going to stay here now and isn't that wonderful. Jamie throws a quick look at Maxwell, who is hovering awkward just inside the kitchen, and she doesn't look like the prospect of having Maxwell back in town is really all that wonderful. Maxwell can't blame her.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jamie and his mother begin unpacking the contents of the box and Maxwell watches as Jamie moves around his mother's kitchen with an ease and familiarity which Maxwell has yet to achieve despite living here. The two of them load containers of food into the freezer and Maxwell wonders how his mother is affording all this takeout. He tries to think back if he's actually seen her cook anything from scratch since he moved in, and is embarrassed to admit that he can't recall. He makes a mental note that he should help out more. They are two grown-ups living in this house and it's not fair that she should have to do all the work just because he's busy feeling sorry for himself in his room.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jamie asks his mother how she's doing and if there's anything she needs help with. As if to rub salt into his self-inflicted wounds, his mother turns to Maxwell and smiles kindly, assuring Jamie that she's fine now that she's got Maxwell here to help her. The look Jamie gives him in response to that more closely mirrors the reality of Maxwell helping anyone with anything.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”Well, in that case,” Jamie says, ”I shall leave you two to it. It's lovely seeing you again. You look good.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Maxwell, who's been studying his feet, hoping the embarrassment isn't staining his cheeks red, thinks for a moment that the words are directed at him and his heart does a little skip in his chest. Then he looks up and sees that Jamie's hand is on his mother's shoulder and all her attention is directed towards her and not Maxwell.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”Call me if you need anything, okay? Even... now that Max is back.” Jamie smiles kindly and gives his mom's shoulder a quick squeeze before she turns and picks up the empty box from the table.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”Bye, Max,” she says without any emotion as she brushes past him again, heading for the front door.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”Bye, Jamie,” he echoes, watching her retreating back. He closes the door behind her because he knows he will stare too long and embarrass himself even further if he doesn't.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Maxwell can't help but ask his mom about Jamie later that evening, when they're eating some of the vegetarian pad thai she had dropped off earlier. It's just as delicious as all the other meals she's unknowingly made for him since he moved in.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”So Jamie is still in town?” he asks his mother, who looks up, with a far too knowing smile for his liking. It almost makes him take the question back, but he is too curious so he lets the question hang in the air until his mother has swallowed and taken a sip of her water.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”She barely left,” his mother tells him, ”Went away about a year after you did, to go to college but came right back after graduation and took over the old restaurant... you know the one down on the corner by the bank?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Maxwell nods. He knows the place. It had been the only restaurant in town when he'd grown up. His mother had sometimes taken him there for burgers on his birthday but money had been too tight for them to go there more often than that.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”So she bought that, fixed it up so it looks real nice, and she's been running it ever since. She has an apartment in town, too, but I'm not sure if she's told me where...if she has, I've forgotten about it. You know how I am. I can't remember anything,” she says with a self-deprecating chuckle that feels like someone dumping burning hot coal down his throat.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”Mom, stop,” he tells her and she falls silent mid-laugh.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”Sorry,” she quickly apologizes, and Maxwell forces himself to hold back a sigh, because this reaction isn't what he was after.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”And the food?” he asks her instead, to change the topic slightly.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”Oh... I told you I can't work so much nowadays because of my back. Well, Jamie's been a real angel. She's...the restaurant sometimes gets food left over and she knows I don't always have the most money so... So sometimes she comes by and drops food off for me.” His mother smiles a little and twirls her fork around in the pad thai.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Maxwell watches her quietly, feeling this new information settle unpleasantly in his heart. That should have been him. He should have been the one to look after his mom. But once he left, Maxwell had wanted nothing to do with this life. He had felt he was owed a fresh start. So he'd changed his name and whenever anyone had asked, he'd told them that he didn't have any family.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>When he left, Maxwell had hated them both so much, for different reasons, but over the years the hatred towards his mom had cooled down and he could see that she had been even more trapped in that house than he had been. Sitting in front of her now, Maxwell wishes he had contacted her sooner. Maybe things would have been different if he had. Maybe she would have been one less person he had let down and treated like shit.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Because if there is one thing Maxwell Lord has succeeded in doing throughout his life, it's treating people like shit. His mom, his ex-wife, Alistair, the people he'd worked with...hell, most of the world, really. And Jamie. Maxwell had treated her worse than shit.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They met back when Maxwell was still an invisible nobody. But Jamie not only noticed him but actually saw something she'd liked. They dated all through high school and even after Maxwell escaped for college. They fell hopelessly in love, in the way that only teenagers can be, despite being very different. Maxwell wanted to conquer the world while Jamie was happy to stay in the small town where people already knew her. Jamie was content with what she had while Maxwell hated the very word <em>content</em>. Sometimes they argued. Never like his mom and dad, but sometimes voices were raised and things said that were less than kind – usually by him. Maxwell would question why she didn't want more than this, why she would settle for so little? She tried explaining that it wasn't <em>little</em> to her but Maxwell just thought that sounded like bullshit.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Their differences became even more apparent when he moved away for college and saw the goals and behaviors of the people in the big city. They felt more in line with his own visions and the longer they spent apart, the more pathetic her lack of ambition seemed. When she told him that she hoped they could buy a small house together one day, he wanted to scream at her <em>”why not dream of a mansion?!” </em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He wanted so desperately for her to open her eyes, to see the world as he saw it, with all its possibilities. She didn't have to settle. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She could have it all. <em>He</em> could give it to her.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>So he invited her up to visit him one weekend. It was her birthday and he wanted to show her something splendid, wanted to show her what he meant when he told her to dream bigger. A new acquaintance of Maxwell's was hosting a big party, a huge party where everybody who showed up was a somebody, and Maxwell had gotten invited.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>When they showed up, the party was already in full swing, alcohol and drugs in abundance, accompanied by a sense of worriless existence that only people with money could achieve. It was a carelessness that Maxwell desperately craved too. Arriving at the party felt like coming home but Jamie clung to his arm and Maxwell could tell that she hated it. He spent half the evening trying to show her a good time and win her over, but no matter how much he tried, she didn't seem happy and when she asked for the fifteenth time if they could just go home, he snapped.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They were standing on a mostly empty balcony, overlooking the most gorgeous view of the city, which Jaime barely even looked at. He'd tried to show her all the wonderful things they could have but all she wanted to do was go back to his small and empty student apartment.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Maxwell had yelled at her, accused her of lacking drive and that the dreams she talked of sounded like nightmares to him. He watched tears well up in her eyes and doubled down- fueled by his own hurt – and called her ungrateful and small-minded.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>When she left the party, crying, Maxwell didn't go after her. Instead, he downed four more strong drinks in quick succession, and about an hour later he pretended that the equally drunk blonde - who had made out with him and who was now blowing him in the bathroom - was Jaime, actually appreciating his efforts.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>When he came home the next morning, he couldn't even try to pretend nothing had happened. There was a lipstick stain the size of a continent on his neck and somehow he'd forgotten to zip up his fly. He watched in real-time as Jamie's heart shattered. Then she broke up with him, packed her bags, and disappeared out the door, ordering him to never call her again.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Maxwell hadn't and before the pain of losing her could get a hold of his heart, Maxwell called up the blonde from the party. Her dad was the CEO of a mechanics company and when Maxwell roughly fucked her again, later that afternoon, she moaned and promised that she would introduce Maxwell to him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”Maybe we should invite Jamie over for dinner sometime...” his mother muses, bringing Maxwell's thoughts back to the here and now. He looks up at her.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>”You know, Mom, I'm not sure that's such a good idea,” he replies. Maxwell was probably the last person Jamie wanted to have dinner with. He can't even blame her for still hating him. Even if he'd rationalized it at the time, he can now admit that it had been a truly awful way to treat her.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>Just on brand for Maxwell Lord</em>, he thinks bitterly.</p>
</div>
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